A Fight We Didn't Pick
by WatsonsWarrior
Summary: Sometimes we all get caught up in a battles we don't want to fight, and wars we want to win. Going through hell is easier when someone's got your back. (Hannibal, Face, Murdock and B.A. in different situations throughout their service and life afterward as fugitives.)
1. Chapter 1

A note:

Hey y'all. These stories will all be short-ish chapters of different scenarios. Some of the chapters will be set while the team was in Vietnam, some will be set after they return home. Any warnings will be listed at the beginning of each chapter. So prepare thyself for humour, h/c, angst, tears, laughs.. mostly tears. Just kidding. (Sort of.) Rated T right now for language and war violence. Will probably change to M later.

All of the stories included in this are only true in part that the Vietnam war really happened, and it really was terrible. All stories include or are based off of either true stories or poems. The A-Team movie, tv show, nor any of the characters belong to me. Neither do any of the poems, lyrics, (or anything else) that these stories spring from. I claim no rights.

* * *

_Chapter One: Thanksgiving_

Lieutenant Templeton "Face" Peck stared out at the school yard below him. The air was thick with smoke from somewhere down the street, making him cough. He grunted, holding a hand to his stomach, pressing against the bandages that covered tender, bloodied stitches.

"Faceman?" Face quickly covered his pain-filled grimace with what he hoped the pilot would take as carefree attitude. He listened to the pattering of footsteps ascending the hall stairs behind him before reaching the dusty, abandoned room he was perched in. Hannibal had told them to lay low along the street and wait for any further orders. Face had sulked off, aware that Hannibal was just as aggravated with the delay as he was, but too tired to give a damn. He'd really wanted a cool bed, a warm woman, and possibly some warm food, but he'd settle for the seat he'd found on the window sill.

Murdock stalked silently into the room, the only sound he made being the soft thuds of combat boots on the less-than-sturdy wooden floor planks. Face didn't speak, acknowledging the pilot's presence only by moving to the side and clearing a spot on the window sill. Murdock took his place beside Face, staring out at the town beneath them.

"You know, Murdock, when it's all dark just before the sun comes up, it's alright. You can see the mountains and the sunrise, and it's not too sticky outside yet."

Murdock acknowledged him with a glance and a slight head nod, remaining silent. For all his ongoing stories and talkative personality, Face had to give it to a man- he knew when to be quiet and when to speak.

"But then the sun comes up. Every morning it's back, just like this damned war."

"The sun ain't a bad thing though, Faceman." Murdock leaned against the window frame, picking at the dirty bandage wrapping his knuckles.

"No, but it's what it makes you see... things you don't want to see."

"Just like this damned war?" Murdock grinned, although it was humorless. Face shook his head, scoffing.

"Yeah." He subconsciously moved his hand to his stomach again, ignoring the slow throbbing from the makeshift medical attention. "It's like a woman you wanted to just spend the night with, and when you realize she's serious, you're too far in to get out."

Murdock shot Face a look. "Did you jus' compare th' sun to a woman?" Face frowned at him.

"You know what I mean."

"I do." Murdock turned his attention back to the road before glancing up at the sky. Gentle weather, cloudy and calm with a slight breeze that blew smoke straight into the upstairs room. Murdock's mind processed the weather within seconds, and he estimated a storm would hit a bit after noon. His years flying had taught him the invaluable skill of being his own weatherman. Murdock wondered if the storm would match the one he could see in Face's eyes. "What does it make you see, then?"

Face shrugged, scanning the landscape beneath them with a calculating gaze. He let the conversation fall silent, and Murdock almost voiced what he'd originally sought the Lieutenant out for. Face broke the silence first.

"_Whitewashed patched walls,_

_ Cracked faded red roof-tiles,_

_ Staring glassless, black window squares._

_ A broken, open wooden door,_

_ A tired flagpole_

_ Drooping its weary, red-yellow rag."_

Murdock turned his eyes to the man sitting beside him. "Waxing poetic? Who is that?"

"Can't remember. Read it in a paper somewhere."

"Written by one o' us, then." It was a statement more than a question. You couldn't help but tell when someone else was explaining something you'd seen much of- too much of, at that. The poem seemed perfectly written for this place. Murdock could see how Face would dislike the sun coming up if all you saw by it's bright rays was filth and death and war.

"Look at them kids down there." Murdock nodded toward the group of Vietnamese children sitting in a dusty corner of the school yard, playing some sort of handshake game. "They needed doctors, and we brought 'em."

Face met Murdock's eyes, curiosity overcoming his attempt at a passive expression.

"You hurt much?" Murdock motioned at Face's abdomen. The lingering pain from a deep knife slash reminded him momentarily of the mission they'd completed the prior night.

"Like a bitch," Face consented. Murdock smirked, an understanding in his eyes.

"Feeling the pain means you're alive to feel it." Murdock coughed into the crook of his arm as the wind pushed another cloud of smoke into their faces. Face watched the pilot's lean ribcage shake as he coughed, realizing Murdock was just as miserable as he was.

"The weather's real nice, too. Could be 'lot worse," Murdock said. He glanced over at the lieutenant.

"Great. We've got kids that'll probably only live to be killed in worse ways that infections, a wound that'll just leave another scar, and good weather that won't last."

"Fine. At least you've got your family."

Face paused in the middle of running a hand through his hair, eyes flashing momentarily. Murdock would've regretted the pain he saw in the Lieutenant's eyes, if he didn't know that what was about to be said was needed. Face finally turned his eyes to meet Murdock's.

"You're not one to take cheap shots, so what the hell is that supposed to mean?" Face's eyes had a soft challenge in them.

"Hannibal is here. I'm here. That ol' angry mudsucker is here. We were sent on one mission together, thanks to the Colonel wormin' his way outta me getting sent out. It's all hell, but at least we're going it together. I can be thankful for that, can't I?" The captain turned his head, glancing out into the street. He missed Texas. He felt his heart drop, thinking about his Grandma's fried chicken and the multiple calorie-laden pies that they'd be eating about this time.

"Don't mean to upset ya, Lieutenant. Figured I couldn' make it a lot worse. Sorry." Murdock readied himself to stand, but Face grabbed his arm and held him from leaving.

"No, it's alright. I'm just tired," he said. Murdock nodded. He knew, oh did he know- it wasn't only the physical exhaustion, but a mental one as well- like you'd just taken a college exam and ran a 10k afterward. Bone-weary, he'd call it.

"H.M.?"

Murdock glanced up at Face. The second in command almost never called the pilot that. It was always 'Murdock', or occasionally 'Captain'. When he'd first met the blond haired, blue- eyed soldier, Face had called him 'Flyboy'.

Face bit his lip and seemed like he was going to say something, but shook his head and smiled out at the town. When he looked back at Murdock, his eyes were glassy- maybe from the smoke, maybe not.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Captain."

Murdock gave him a bittersweet smile. "Back at ya, LT."

* * *

After-note: The excerpt in this bit is from a poem called "The School", (2003) by Curt Bennet, a former US pilot. His work is really good- not typical poetry, but then again, how many poets fought through the Vietnam war and chose to write about it? Look him up. He's good. I claim absolutely no rights to the poem.


	2. Chapter 2

**UPDATE: To the two kind Guests (or who I suspect was really just one guest) who implied that I have done no research- **_The first draft of this chapter included the words "POW snatch". I am sorry for any confusion there was on this subject on my part- I did not mean to imply that the men were rescued, and I certainly did not mention anything of a raid. I am more than aware of the lack of any succesful raids on any of the POW prison camps during the Vietnam War. I have had very close family who have served over many years. I had a great uncle serving in the Vietnam war, and just this morning was going over a letter he sent his parents. My own father was in the USAF until an injury prevented him from serving and he was given an honorable discharge. As well as the context in which this may have been taken, I apologize. However, I do ask that you please remember that this is a fiction, and any and all writers have literary freedom. If you don't like that these are not true-to-events, perfect synopsises of the war, then I would like to politely ask why you are reading fanfiction for a show that is also fiction? Anyway. I made a few changes in my sentence structure of the story so as not to give false ideas. I mean this all respectively. Thank you for your reviews._

AN: Hey guys. So, here's chapter two. I've actually had this typed up for a while, and decided I might as well post it. Just a thing I forgot to mention- these chapters won't be in chronological order. I'm trying not to put specific timestamps on the events, since it leaves freedom for the reader to decide, but obviously anything that takes place outside of the war is something that has happened after they were discharged.

Anywho. You all enjoy this chapter. Standard disclaimers apply.

* * *

_Chapter Two (Follow the Leader)_

_"Become the kind of leader that people would follow voluntarily; even if you had no title or position." -Brian Tracy_

It was nights like these that Hannibal could appreciate. It wasn't terribly hot- he'd gone through worse. The mosquito netting clinging to the sweat on his skin begged to differ, but with the weather in 'Nam, you took what you could get. The night was quiet, although a certain anticipatory air hung over the camp. Escaped POW's had been found and a confirmed pickup had been radioed in. The camp was waiting for the Medevac team to bring the men in. They'd only be there temporarily before being shipped off to a better hospital ward, but it was still a moment of victory that every soldier could relish in.

Hannibal glanced over at the sleeping form of the men that made up his unit- Lieutenant Templeton Peck snored gently from the bunk across from him. B.A. slept on the bed above him, but Hannibal had heard him fall asleep at least a half hour ago. Murdock was probably in his own barracks by now, or maybe at his chopper. Yes, nights like these were welcomed, pleasantly quiet lulls in the middle of chaos.

Except when they weren't.

Yelling was the first thing that Hannibal heard, half-asleep. The explosion that followed afterward made him sit up completely, smacking his head against the bottom of the bunk above him. B.A. dropped from the bunk above him and grabbed the firearm hanging from the bed post. Face was already heading out the door, and Hannibal followed quickly.

As they emerged from the cabin, they were temporarily blinded by the fire. Something- or someone- had tripped a wire on the north side of camp, resulting in the hot flames now licking at the sandy trenches surrounding the camp. A sergeant rushed past, and Hannibal managed to catch the young man's uniform sleeve.

"Report, Sergeant."

The young man opened his mouth to object just as he lifted his head to see Hannibal's face. When he saw the white-haired Colonel towering over him, the sergeant snapped to attention, saluting. Hannibal waved it off.

"What's going on?"

"Enemy fighters engaged Medevac chopper from the ground. Chopper holding the POW's went down, sir. They're one klick due South outside camp, roughly. No contact after they went down. One of the guards saw Charlie and fired off shots, and it all went to shit from there."

Hannibal nodded, looking off into the distance as if calculating his next move. The young soldier took his leave, running in the direction of yelling. From what the Colonel could tell, it was really all just a coincident- Charlie knew where they were, but their goal was only the final destruction of the snatched POW's. Hannibal wasn't sure the details of the extraction, but he was sure there was something else to it all as well.

"Colonel?" Face stepped up beside him, a questioning look in his eyes. Hannibal took one more glance around and reached for the semi-automatic weapon his second in command held out to him.

"Let's go." Hannibal moved out quickly, away from the fire and shouts. There were more than enough of them to deal with what sounded like a small enemy force. The fire wouldn't be much problem-trapped between the sand, it wouldn't go anywhere. The Colonel was more concerned with the downed chopper and the POW's who were in no condition to protect themselves.

Face's unspoken question was clearly answered when Hannibal lead them out of camp, bending to duck beneath the wire. One klick wasn't far- too close to the enemy for comfort, close enough to the base that Hannibal could hold out hope that they might, just might, get there in time.

As they crept closer, Hannibal kept his eyes peeled for any movement. Behind him to the left and right, B.A. and Face stalked silently along, making little noise. Hannibal would guess that most, if not all of the Viet Cong soldiers, would be occupied at the base. That would leave the chopper occupants free of most danger other than injuries sustained in the crash- but better safe than sorry.

Within minutes, the team came upon the remains of the chopper. It wasn't terrible, although two of the blades were snapped off and the Medevac chopper lay on its left side. Hannibal swore lightly under his breath, hurrying to the scene. Face watched the perimeter, leaving B.A. to do the heavy lifting.

"Shit, Hannibal." B.A. was crouched at the front of the chopper, a frown creasing his face. Hannibal could just see him in the dim moonlight. The sergeant shook his head, looking in through the broken windshield. The Colonel could tell without asking that the pilot hadn't made it. Crawling on top of the chopper, he yanked the door open and peered inside. A weak groan had him scurrying to help.

"Where're you hurt, soldier?"

The man inside grunted out an answer, pointing to his left leg. "Nothing else?" Hannibal knew all the protocol for not moving an injured man, but he'd rather take the risk than leave the soldier any possibility of being recaptured. The soldier informed Hannibal that the crew chief had only hit his head, and the two other POWs were alive, although injured as well. It took B.A. and Hannibal ten minutes to haul them all out. The first soldier couldn't walk on his own, blood still seeping from the open leg wound. The crew chief was coherent and offered to support the soldier.

"Hang tough," Hannibal nodded at them, hurrying back to help B.A. retrieve the other injured men. He could feel the eyes of the flight chief on his back, a mixture of wariness and exhaustion. Hannibal couldn't blame him- he hadn't had time to introduce himself, and to the crew chief, the colonel was just a soldier who happened to be there to help.

Just as they pulled the last POW from the chopper, Face rushed into the clearing, hissing at Hannibal.

"Charlie headed this way! Let's get outta here."

Hannibal shoved B.A. off in the direction of camp, the crew chief and wounded soldier following him closely. The black sergeant carried one of the POWs who still had yet to regain consciousness, leading the others through the brush toward camp. Face hauled the last POW to his feet, but the man crumpled. Face pulled the thin figure over his shoulder, sparing no time in following the other retreating men. Hannibal took rear, the body of the dead pilot slung over his shoulder.

The voices of Vietnamese language got closer momentarily, and the Colonel worried that they'd be found before given a chance to get back to base. Within a few minutes, however, the voices faded, exchanged for the silence of the jungle and an occasional yell.

They were within a few yards of the camp when it happened. There was a yell, and a command to stop. Guns cocking afterward backed up the order, and the whole group stopped. Hannibal glanced at his men- they were certainly in no condition to deal with the enemy. The man B.A. carried had yet to regain consciousness, while the flight chief's breathing was ragged and heavy as he fought to keep the injured POW beside him on his feet.

"Dừng lại! Stop! Dừng lại!"

Hannibal squinted through the moonlight at the figure holding the firearm. "Colonel Peterson?"

There was a pregnant pause, and then the man answered. "Declare yourself."

"Hannibal Smith. We've got injured men with us."

There was a small huddle of confusion before the group was swiftly lead back into camp and the injured men taken off their hands. Peterson had given Hannibal and his men a deadly glare as he ushered the team into the medic block, but Hannibal didn't seem fazed. He paced the camp, watching the fires being put out. Everything had been neutralized, he was told. Face and B.A. found Murdock and joined him in towing buckets of water to the fire.

"Colonel Smith?"

Hannibal turned at his name. The General stood behind him, observing the scene with tired eyes. Hannibal saluted, and the General returned it. He was lead into the main office and asked to sit down. Hannibal remained standing.

"So. You took two men and snuck off base on an unauthorized mission during the middle of an attack."

"Yes sir."

"You know what I'm supposed to say, Colonel."

"That it was a rookie thing, leading such a small team into a danger zone during an enemy attack. Also that we should've seen if we could help here, or at least told someone what we were doing- all of us could've been shot upon return since no-one was expecting us."

The General raised an eyebrow in his direction. "And now, what I'm going to say?"

It was Hannibal's turn to raise a questioning look to his commander's face. The general shook his head.

"You've done it again." The general held out a cigar, smirking. Hannibal gladly took it. He lit up, sat down to write his official report, and explained his earlier plan to the general as he wrote.

* * *

Not quite sure I like this one. R&R! I'm open to constructive criticism.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: My great-grandfather served in the Navy as well as the Air Force and was stationed in two different places oversea during his time serving. When he died a few years back, it was more than hard to take. I had never been able to spend much time with him, but I remember playing "The Star Spangled Banner" for him on the piano at the nursing home. He'd wheel out and sit, listening, and quiet. His funeral and the 21 gun salute are etched in my memory for a lifetime.

Then, when I was still dating my ex, his grandfather died. He had served many years in the military and was a hard-core Marine all the way to his bones. I will never forget his funeral, and although his and this story are both different, I can tell you the emotion put into it is the same. Hooah.

* * *

_Chapter Three- Graveside Manner_

The walky-talky at Face's side crackled to life.

"Face?"

"Here, Hannibal."

"We got 'em taken care of. Head in, Lieutenant."

"Right."

Face replaced the walky-talky under his uniform top, straightening the jacket as did so. Glancing at his reflection in the puddle at his feet, the Lieutenant straightened his hat once more before making his way down the hillside. The funeral procession was slowly making their way under a covered pavilion. Face could see the caskets, already in place and sheltered from the light rain. It'd been a long time since he'd been at a funeral for someone he didn't know- but then again, it felt like they had known Jerry and his son.

Face studied the faces as he got closer, taking in all the attendees. The group was small, mostly family members and a few friends. The Sergeant he'd talked to at the front office earlier had told him the family wanted a small graveside service, something more subdued than the large crowd that attended the church service prior.

That was where Face and the others came in. The Marines being buried were well known around the area as good guys, hard workers who had lived quietly and loved to hunt-before they'd left for the war. From what they had gathered, the two had been sent on a suicide run- and it didn't go well. A few years back, one of the men had stopped a big shipment of stolen goods from being transferred. The police had managed to jail two of the criminals involved, but four or five had managed to evade capture. Jerry and his son Al were both killed overseas, but their bodies had been recovered, thankfully intact.

The team wouldn't have had any involvement in the funeral at all if it hadn't been for B.A. overhearing a conversation at the local bar. What he heard gave them reason to believe the criminals would show up at the graveside to "pay their respects". Hannibal and the rest of the guys had agreed that they would step in for this one. Although the team had just been passing through, the saying "No-one left behind" still rang true, for anyone who had served at any time- before as well as after death.

Face made his way under the pavilion, casting a cursory glance around the group. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Hannibal and B.A. following Murdock down the hill. The three were dressed in uniform as well, official mourning badges on their upper sleeves. Face wished he could say he'd scammed them, that they'd never had to use them before- but they'd had them for a long time- since their first military funeral back in 'Nam.

Hannibal stepped into place beside Face as the others joined him at the back of the pavilion. The Honor Guard folded the two American flags in turn as the family looked on- each crisp fold pressed neatly, resulting in a tradition triangle of stars and stripes. Face glanced at the Colonel momentarily. He wondered if Hannibal was thinking about the time they had been Honor Guard for another soldier- a friend- who was KIA.

_Face pressed the corner neatly, tucking the material in on itself. His hands were shaking, something he knew Hannibal had noticed by the quick glance he received. The Lieutenant couldn't help it- he'd tried to calm his nerves, but the funeral was hard for him. He'd been a long-time friend of the soldier- hell, they all had- and it wasn't easy knowing he was dead. The blast that should've killed Face had only resulted in burns- but not for the Second Lieutenant, who'd died on impact. Face carefully took the flag from the Colonel, kneeling before the next of kin- the soldier's widow. He handed it to her, and she nodded as he spoke quietly, words of respect and comfort for only her ears. She reached forward unexpectedly and hugged him tightly, and after a moment, Face returned it. When they pulled apart, the shoulder of his uniform was wet. _

Taps began to play, and Face pulled himself from the memory. In sync with the rest of the team, as well as the Honor Guard, his fingers met his temple as they saluted. The bugler did a wonderful job, one of the better versions he had heard. Before the rifle salute, Hannibal nudged Face. The Lieutenant followed the Colonel's eyes to the hilltop. Face nudged B.A., who in turn elbowed Murdock. In the distance, they watched as a small huddle of men studied the assembled group, including the team standing guard at back. They seemed to argue over something momentarily before turning and leaving.

The group all returned their attention to the ceremony, a sense of accomplishment and relief in each mind. No-one deserved to have a funeral ruined-especially not fellow service members and the family. The twenty-one gun salute was carried out with precision, and one of the Honor Guards stepped forward.

"Upon request, I will be reading a selected piece."

Face only half-way listened, his mind going back to recount all the funerals he'd attended- ones for friends, and those he considered a friend, although they may have never met. Some of those men had died in battle, some of natural causes.

"I hear the great drums pounding,

And the small drums steady whirring,

And every blow of the great convulsive drums

Strikes me through and through.

For the son is brought with the father,

(In the foremost ranks of the fierce assault they fell,

Two veterans son and father dropt together,

And the double grave awaits them."

Face caught the words, stirring him from the memory. He listened to the soldier read the rest before saluting. The crowd petered out, except a choice few. Hannibal made his way to the head Honor Guard and spoke a few quiet words to him before shaking his hand and making his way back to the team.

They walked in silence to the van. The next little while was spent sitting vigil in the vehicle, keeping an eye on the process of lowering the caskets into their respective graves. It was clear that Hannibal wouldn't stand for anything to happen last moment and them not be there to intervene.

"Colonel?"

Murdock leaned forward from the backseat, closer to Hannibal. B.A. stared out the driver side window in an attempt to give them some privacy. He could tell Murdock had something on his mind. Hannibal waited for Murdock to continue.

"You ever think about how we never met certain soldiers, but they're like a part of us? Like we knew 'em, or something?"

The Colonel paused. B.A. turned his head to them.

"Like we knew 'em," the Sergeant added quietly.

Hannibal nodded slowly, knowingly. "This is what happens when water is as thick as blood."

* * *

The poem excerpt we see recited by the Honor Guard in this chapter is called "Dirge For Two Veterans", which Walt Whitman wrote and put in one of his books called "Drum-Taps" (1865). Whitman has been a long time favorite of mine.

BTW- thank you to the ones who have left a review. :) I hope you all continue to enjoy the stories.

Belker- thank you. I was sort of going for that- emotional but not overly heavy.


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Thank you to all who have left a review. I love the feedback. So this chapter is sort of light, nothing especially deep, but I hope you enjoy it all the same. It's always strange for me when I write something that isn't action-filled or intense in some sort, so let me know what you think.

* * *

_Chapter four: One if by Land_

There were occasionally times when B.A. would argue that the van was as much a part of the team as any of the others- which, most of the time, they all agreed on. The trusted, go-to vehicle was something they relied on for almost everything, whether job related or not. They'd slept in the van, escaped countless sets of MPs in the van, they'd practically lived in it, it held all their equipment, and it was most definitely an asset.

It was also definitely B.A.'s. Sure, the whole team used it and they put it through ridiculous changes and alterations, but the van was his baby. He preferred to drive it, and he'd take it and a highway over a shorter plane trip any day- although that wasn't saying much, seeing how much he detested flying. His protection of the vehicle was the reason he usually drove it. Which also meant it was _very _unusual to see Murdock driving.

"Fool better not wreck my van, Hannibal."

The Colonel patted B.A.'s shoulder. "Really don't think the van is your biggest concern right now, B.A."

The Sergeant scowled, wincing as Hannibal exchanged one blood-soaked rag for a fresh one and pressed it against the shoulder wound. The bullet was small caliber, but wasn't a through-and-through.

"It better be his biggest concern," B.A. growled. Murdock turned to the back of the van momentarily, meeting B.A.'s eyes.

"Billy's my co-pilot, man. We've got this."

"Jus' so long as he don't make a mess in my van, Murdock."

The pilot smiled and put his eyes back on the road. "So you admit he's real."

"Didn't do no such thing, fool. I was jus' sayin'."

"Don't worry 'bout it, B.A. Billy is completely house trained. Van trained, too."

Hannibal glanced quickly at the pilot, ignoring B.A.'s exasperated growl. The way the pilot white-knuckled the steering wheel said that his banter was little more than reassurance- though whether Murdock was reassuring B.A. or himself, Hannibal wasn't sure. Rising from where he was bent over B.A. in the back floorboard, the Colonel checked their surroundings. They were nearing their destination, thankfully. The ride has seemed a lot longer than it actually had been.

"Murdock, let Face know where to meet us."

"On it, boss-man."

"You sure this ain't no trick? I don't like doctors, 'specially ones we don't know." B.A. looked up at Hannibal, concern etched on his face. Hannibal admired him for being so driven, even with a bullet lodged in his shoulder. "Seems like a lot o' trouble."

"I trust Maggie," Hannibal replied. He'd called the former Captain a little over twenty minutes ago, asking if she had anyone she could fix them up within the area that she would trust. After a quick call, she'd had it arranged. Hannibal promised her dinner the next time he saw her and hung up, hell-bent on getting the wounded man to the clinic.

Murdock pulled the van into a small parking lot and jumped out and ran around to help Hannibal, car door left hanging open and forgotten. The clinic was indeed small and had no visitors, as Maggie had predicted. The building was painted white, with chipped siding and a small porch. Murdock helped Hannibal ease B.A. out of the van, and they carried him in between them. Sometime within the last few minutes, Hannibal had lost the fight to keep the big man conscious.

The door swung open before Murdock had a chance to reach for the door knob. A short, lean man stood in the door way, beckoning them in.

"Come in, come in. You're John Smith?" The man's eyes landed on the shoulder wound that now dripped freely down B.A.'s front.

"That's right."

"This way." They passed through a doorway and down a short hall, into a brightly-lit room. "Put him there, on the table." The man was already snapping on gloves, and proceeded to ask Hannibal all questions about the wound. Surprisingly, the doctor didn't prod for answers about how it had happened. Hannibal had a suspicion that Maggie had something to do with that-for which he was thankful.

The man nodded after Hannibal had finished his report. "Alright. I've got to get to work, then. By the way-" he stuck out one un-gloved hand. "The name's Keith." Hannibal took the offered hand and shook it. Keith quickly pulled away and slid the second surgical glove onto his hand. "I do ask that you please wait out there. Shouldn't take long, unless he wakes up." The man glanced at the wound, pulling back bloody fabric and eyeing the gold chains warily. "Which is a probability."

Hannibal and Murdock made their way to the foyer, treading silently. "Colonel, if you wanna go back in there, I think I'll jus' wait for Faceman."

"That's alright, Murdock, I don't mind waiting with you." Hannibal glanced at the Captain out of the corner of his eye. He could already see that Murdock would object. The Colonel knew that for all the arguing and playful fighting they initiated, B.A. and Murdock were closer than most would guess. He'd been the first at B.A.'s side after the fire fight that morning.

"Nah, it's okay." The pilot shuffled his feet. "I'd rather you be there when he wakes up, ya know?"

Hannibal nodded. "Okay. I'll let you know how it's going." He hadn't originally planned on staying with B.A., but he thought it was probably a good idea. He knew Keith would object, but that wouldn't stop him. Besides, Hannibal imagined the doctor could use the help if B.A. did wake up.

Murdock pulled his jacket close around his shoulders and made his way outside to sit in the van. Propping his head against the cold window, Murdock watched as the predicted sleet started to fall. He was glad they'd made it before the roads got really bad. He would be alright, now that they knew B.A. was being taken care of.

Face hurried inside the small clinic, letting the door slam behind him. "Hannibal?"

The white haired man appeared around the corner. "Ahh. Nice of you to show, Lieutenant. The roads bad?"

Face nodded. "We've got a bigger problem, though."

Hannibal narrowed his eyes. "Bigger than just being snowed in?"

"Sleeted in, if we're being exact- and yes. Decker is about seven miles down the road. They slid in the ice behind me and hit a guardrail on that little bridge."

Hannibal sighed. "He's getting better."

Face gave the Colonel his best exasperated look. A groan from down the hall grabbed their attention. Hannibal motioned in the direction it had come from. "He's awake. Wants to leave."

"Good, me too!"

Hannibal hurried down the hall to retrieve B.A. Face could hear the doctor protest, but the argument was quickly dropped. Within seconds, Hannibal had B.A. around the middle, the two walking down the hall slowly.

"Alright, Face. Let's go."

"We missin' somebody." B.A. looked up, blinking heavily. The sedatives were definitely doing their job. Face nodded.

"Murdock's in the van. Come on."

The team hurried to the van, settling B.A. in the back.

"It's freezing in here, Murdock." Face shivered, pulling a blanket from the back and tossing it to B.A.

"I know. Didn't wanna start it up to run the heater."

"Why not, fool? Trying to freeze to death?" B.A. glanced at Murdock, his hand held protectively against his injured shoulder. The long shirt sleeve had been cut away, replaced by fresh white bandages.

"You said this mornin' you didn't like wastin' gas, so I wasn't wastin' gas on the heater."

B.A. fixed Murdock with a strange look. "Didn't mean you shouldn't use it, man." He paused, narrowing his eyes slightly. "You know, it's alright. You drivin', that is."

Face fixed Hannibal with an incredulous look from the back seat. The Colonel shrugged, climbing in the passenger side. Murdock made his way around the car, settling in behind the wheel. They took off quickly, going just slow enough to manage the icy patches that had formed on the wet roads.

"Well, B.A., I give credit where credit is due." The pilot smiled at the Sergeant in the rearview mirror. "It was really Billy's idea."

"Whatever, fool."

* * *

Inspired by the cruddy weather we're getting, and that I had an orthopedist appointment and had to drive in the ice. Fun stuff.

OH. And the title comes from... "One if by land, two if by sea." Which... I hope everyone knows, but is from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's poem, _"Paul Revere's Ride." (1860) _If one lantern was hung in the Old North Church, it was meant to show Charlestown that the British army would be marching over Boston Neck and the Great Bridge. If two lanterns were hung in the Old North Church, it was to tell them that the soldiers would be taking the boats across the Charles River.


	5. Chapter 5

AN: So, this is somewhat a continuation of the last chapter. It could totally be taken separately, but I'm running with the same feel/theme of different ways of travel and character relationship studies. I'm thinking about expanding this into some sort of storyline, but I'll decide later. Finals are killing me so it's not like I've got lots of time.

Anyway, enough of that. Here's your next chapter, ladies and gentlemen.

_A big thank-you to all those who have left reviews. They mean a lot to me, and I continue to value all your opinions and input! Kim Borowiak- thank you. I have been trying hard to keep them in character, so that's encouraging!_

* * *

_Chapter five: Two if by Sea_

It was almost overkill to have a guard posted, if you asked Face. Hannibal had smiled widely and bit the end from his cigar. _"Overkill is so underrated, Lieutenant." _Face had taken the second shift, trading out with Hannibal a few hours after midnight. The clanging of ropes against metal boat masts made an almost chime-like noise, blending in with the water that gently slapped at the edges of the marina's inhabitants. At least twenty different boats were docked on the same row as the boat Face had procured. Sailboats, motorboats and a few dinghy's- the moon reflected off their closed hatches. Face pulled his jacket closer around his ears, a chill running down his spine. The night was already cold, but the wind blowing off the cool waves lowered the temperature even further.

Face thought back over the last few days. They'd planned to be further along than they were now, but B.A.'s injury had changed the plans. Not that it was his fault- the big man had only done what any of them would've done in that situation. Face glanced back at the twenty-two footer that held his sleeping teammates. He had a feeling that Murdock didn't share Hannibal and Face's feelings on B.A.'s actions, though. When he thought about it, Face was sure that if he had been in the pilot's position, he'd be the same way.

_"Hannibal, watch your six!" Face turned back into the metal crates he had taken cover behind as a spray of automatic weapon fire tore into the ground beside him. He glanced over in time to see Hannibal dispatching the man who'd managed to overcome the Colonel's position. That was when Murdock had come charging around the corner and hurled into the man who'd been aiming at Face moments earlier. B.A. shortly followed, dispatching the other gunman._

Face tensed. Somewhere, a door had clicked shut. Turning to look at the sailboat in the slip behind him, Face relaxed when he saw Murdock. The pilot warily climbed out of the boat, stepping from the cockpit to the dock and making his way slowly over to where Face sat.

They exchanged looks, and Murdock joined Face where he leaned against the dock box.

"Not your shift yet, is it?" Face glanced at his watch, although he had just checked it and knew quite well the answer to his own question.

"That angry mudsucker in there snores too loud to get any decent sleep," Murdock shrugged. Face nodded slowly, watching the moon jumping from wave to wave as the wind buffeted the water back and forth.

"Can't be too harsh on the big guy since he's-" Face stopped, grimacing. He hadn't planned for that sentence to head that direction. Murdock didn't say anything though, fiddling with the dock box's combination lock. Face briefly found himself thinking about how good of a deal he'd been able to get on short notice. He glanced down the long dock as music was carried their way on the wind- a _Beach Boys _album, if Face heard correctly.

"Ever thought about whether or not fish like hearin' our music?" Murdock glanced at Face, a smile playing across his face.

"Can't say I have," Face admitted.

"If I were a fish, I'd probably only attend orchestras of the shell-type. You know," Murdock gestured in the air with his hands, pointing at different parts of an arrangement only he could see. "Seaweed harps, and lots of percussion. They've got the shells for it," he smiled. Face scoffed, an image of lobsters swimming to the beat of a _Van Morrison _song floating through his head. He turned to make a quick retort to Murdock, but paused. The pilot's hands had been replaced in his jacket pockets and his face wore a serious look. Face silently resumed studying the path the moon had carved along the water.

"I could've taken it."

Face glanced at Murdock, confused. The pilot shrugged slightly, not meeting Face's eyes. "Ya know. With that guy jumpin' outta nowhere."

_Ahh. _"It's not your fault, you would've done the exact same thing. Don't tell me you wouldn't have," Face said. A memory flashed across his mind- a green soldier, a pilot, and an ambush. Murdock met his eyes then, and Face knew they'd been thinking about the same thing.

"Besides, he's perfectly fine. He'll be back to driving the van and giving you a hard time about Billy in no time." Face tried to lighten the mood, but knew by the look on Murdock's face that it hadn't helped.

"I know it isn't my fault, Faceman. But I've taken lead before- and not sayin' I'm a secret agent or anythin'- but I've taken a bullet and still flown a Huey. I'm completely capable."

Face glanced at Murdock, and the events of the last few weeks suddenly fell in place for him. He remembered the evening they'd stopped at a cheap motel after a long mission, everyone eager to get some rest. An argument over whether or not invisible dogs counted when taking under consideration of the 'no pets allowed' rule had led to one exasperated Sergeant telling one insistent Captain that he was acting like one of the kid's B.A. took care of back at home.

Face had noticed Murdock's subdued manners the days after that- but after they were on site for the next item on their agenda, Murdock seemed to shake it off.

"That's what this is all about?" Face laughed.

"Billy says you're being rude," Murdock said, raising his eyebrows at Face. "And I don't see why that's funny."

"Murdock, listen to yourself." Face pointed at Murdock to place emphasis on his next words. The pilot remained silent. "You think B.A. doubted you could handle it. Am I right?" Murdock shrugged. Face took that as a 'yes'.

"Let me introduce you to a fellow I know- Howlin' Mad Murdock, the best flyer this side of heaven. Pulled strangers out of a battlefield with no mind to his own life. Took a bullet to the shoulder and still managed to escape the MP's. I've known him to look hijackers, terrorists, Vietcong and death straight in the face and laugh at them. He's also the only man I've ever known who could train an invisible dog so well."

Murdock glanced up at Face, his dark eyes slightly turned up at the corners. Face let a one-sided grin slip across his features. "He's always had my back, too. Now tell me, doesn't he sound like a guy who could take anything someone threw his way?"

Murdock shrugged, but Face insisted on an answer. "Well?

"Guess I see your point," he admitted. Face nodded once, feeling that settled the matter.

The wind howled across the wooden docks, blowing his hair around. The wind almost carried Murdock's voice away before he heard the words, they were so low. Murdock's somber tone didn't match the bittersweet look on his face, though. "But I'm crazy." He cocked his head sideways, the dark tufts of hair sticking out from under his dark baseball cap and blowing back and forth.

Face met Murdock's searching eyes. "Not that crazy."

* * *

I know it's not much, but I'm pleased with it. FYI- the "But I'm crazy." "Not that crazy," lines come from the A-Team movie (2010). I know the movie isn't everyone's cup of tea, and that's fine. But credit where credit is due- I don't own any of it- the series, movie, script or characters. Unfortunately.


	6. Chapter 6

AN: I know, I know. It's been a while since I updated. No worries, I'm not gone. School/Christmas shopping and some traveling has taken my writing time lately. I'll try to update more often over break.

* * *

_Chapter Six: Off Into the Wild Blue Yonder_

"Relax, big guy. It'll work." Murdock whispered to the Lieutenant from where he sat in the copilot's seat. From the corner of his eye, B.A. caught sight of the hand holding them at gunpoint. He glanced back at the control panel, sighing. Slowly, he reached for the first switch and engine controls. Casting a weary glance at Murdock, he was reassured with a quick nod.

Under normal circumstances, this would never happen. B.A. would be knocked out in the back, Face and Murdock would sit up front and keep each other company over the flight, maybe the Colonel would bring them lunch or a drink depending on the length of the flight. On top of that, Murdock would be the one piloting the aircraft- after all, he was the Captain, and it was his job. This time, things were different. Murdock's hands sat idly in his lap, hurriedly-placed bandages wrapped around the knuckles.

"Faster." The man sitting behind them waved his gun at B.A., who's only response was a low growl. Murdock shot him a warning look, not wanting anything further to happen.

"Can't go any faster, man. Unless o' course you don't want to take off?"

"Shut up. Just get going."

Truth be told, they could go faster. Murdock was just hoping to buy Hannibal some extra time- they were lucky if he was going to be there at all. The captain would be damned before he let their earlier efforts go to waste.

That was how he'd injured his hands. That was why he was sitting in the copilot seat, giving careful instructions to B.A. on which switches to flip. The job had been a routine one, nothing special- and only their second job after B.A. had fully recovered from the gunshot wound. Now they'd have to wait on him to recover from whatever was wrong with his hands- Murdock scowled, not allowing himself to glance down at the wrapped appendages.

"Let's get to dancin', big man." Carefully instructing B.A., Murdock monitored the gauges and watched as the Lieutenant pushed the plane into flight. It wasn't a bad takeoff, if Murdock said so himself- which he did. His hands reminded him that it could've been smoother, pain radiating up his fingers and through his wrists with every shudder of the wings. But for B.A., who didn't fly, hated flying, hated air, it was a more than superb takeoff. Murdock told him so. B.A. shot the captain an incredulous look as if to say that there were more important things than how the takeoff was.

Murdock turned his head slightly when another man from the group of mercenaries entered the cockpit. He whispered something to the one holding the gun. Both men looked quickly at B.A. and Murdock before returning to their whispering. Murdock felt a flutter of hope, praying that maybe they'd gotten through with their radio call to Hannibal.

The armed man stalked toward his seat. Murdock kept his eyes on the sky and the meters in front of him, pretending not to notice. The man reached to the radio and pulled the extension plug from the box- neatly killing any hope they'd had for using the radio to call a _mayday_.

"Stay here. You screw around with anything and butterfingers here will have more than his hands to worry about." The man glared at them before retreating from the cockpit. Left alone, they were finally free to talk.

"B.A., pull that cord out." Murdock motioned to a red cable running into a battery charger. B.A. yanked the wire free, starting to hand it to Murdock. The pilot frowned, shrugging, and B.A. apologized quickly, with a swift look to the Captain's hands.

"How's your hands, man?"

"Not very Houdini-like on a level of flexibility, but I'll manage." Murdock managed a forced smile at B.A. and motioned with his head toward the radio.

"We can't fix it, Murdock."

"I know that, B.A. But we can make it into something else."

B.A.'s eyes met Murdock's as he realized what the pilot wanted him to do.

"Autopilot ain't working, man."

"I wasn't born yesterday, B.A." Murdock raised his hands to the controls set before him, gritting his teeth against the flares of pain when he curled his fingers around the controls. B.A. flipped the switch to secondary controls and started working hurriedly on the radio. Murdock wasn't sure how long they would have before the men returned, and he was thankful B.A. was working fast.

"Wait a second, B.A. On second thought, signal that we're putting it down."

"What? Out here? I can't do that and you know it."

"You can do it, and I do know it. You will do it, unless you want to be stranded somewhere in Somalia with a useless pilot and no communication with the outside world."

B.A. glared at the pilot, but quickly went back to his work. Within two minutes he was done, hoping that Hannibal and Face had picked up the signal. Stashing the wire out of sight, B.A. hesitantly took the control of the plane over. Murdock sighed with relief, dropping his hands to his knees again.

"Sorry about yo hands," B.A. said. Murdock glanced up at him.

"Nothin' to be sorry 'bout, big guy. Wasn't your fault."

"Yes it was. I gave you the signal too early and you end up gettin' your hands smashed in a door."

Murdock stared at B.A., confused at how the lieutenant had come up with that conclusion. He could see from the look on B.A.'s face that he wouldn't budge on his feelings. Murdock shook his head, frustrated with the whole situation. He didn't regret making the break for the phone- hopefully Hannibal had got their message.

"Whatever. If you don't believe me, then at least we're even. Even-steven." Murdock avoided B.A.'s eyes.

"What you talkin' 'bout, fool?"

"It was my fault you got shot. I should've taken that one." Murdock steeled himself and reached for the controls, flipping certain switches. Punching in numbers on a small pad, Murdock flipped another switch. The plane lurched and slid sideways for a moment before straightening itself out. Murdock glanced at B.A. and hurriedly gave him instructions on what they would do. B.A.'s lips were pressed together tightly.

"That weren't your fault, fool."

"Today wasn't yours, either."

The back door slid open and the man came in, waving his gun and asking what the hell had just happened. B.A. and Murdock were slow in replying, their eyes locked in a silent stare-off as each realized that the other really meant what they said.

As always, Hannibal was there for his soldiers when they hit the ground, landing in a long grassy field. The mercenaries weren't expecting anyone to be waiting for them when they exited the aircraft. Even though Hannibal and Face were outnumbered four-two, and the men had Murdock and B.A. at gunpoint, they weren't trained gunman and were dispatched quickly.

Hannibal's eyes landed on Murdock's bandaged hands. The pilot's arms were crossed, hands tucked protectively beneath each arm.

"Alright, Captain?"

B.A. spoke up quickly. "He ain't, but he will be."

Murdock glanced at B.A., a smile flittering across his face briefly. As they made their way to the van that was parked a short ways away, the Captain nudged Hannibal.

"Hey Colonel. B.A. here has offered to take over all flying for the team.

"Crazy fool, I ain't never flyin' again."

"That's what they all say, B.A."

* * *

AN: So I decided to do a land/sea/air chapter trilogy here, in case you hadn't noticed. So this is the last piece that is related to the last few chapters. No quote inspired here- I was discussing with a friend what would happen if I ever broke my hand(s) and couldn't drum anymore, and this kind of sprung from it. Anyway, R&R if you like- and I hope everyone is enjoying the holidays. I'll update again soon.


	7. Chapter 7

AN: Merry Christmas Eve, y'all. (Or Christmas Adam, or Christmas Day, depending on where you live.) I know there's a few stories of the holidays involving the team, but that won't stop me from doing another one. Haha. Anyway. Hope y'all enjoy. Something lighter as a break from the last few chapters + an early Christmas present.

* * *

_Chapter Seven: Workin' Blues_

_"This is the message of Christmas: We are never alone. -Taylor Caldwell"_

To B.A., it was the smell of pancakes and bacon frying that woke him up in the morning. It was listening to his dad reading the Christmas story the night before. It was opening their small amount of presents, eating out for lunch as they shopped for family that afternoon, and wrestling with his cousins at the family dinner that evening. Sometimes there was no snow on the ground that day, and other times there had been so much snow that it had taken them a full hour and a half to get across town- a trip that usually took twenty minutes. The evening was always spent with family- cousins and uncles, aunts who wanted to know how tall he'd grown, grandparents who asked about school, and most of all- they were all together.

With Face, it hadn't ever been much. The orphanage was too poor to afford much in the way of Christmas gifts- they all got three oranges that morning, and the fireplaces were loaded with more wood that night. It was a welcome treat, since they usually had some form of oatmeal for breakfast and lunch, and the fires were usually only lit just enough to keep it bearably warm. When he was a teenager, he'd been able to buy a gift for his girlfriend, candy for himself, and maybe a small takeout meal for dinner that night. It was only once he got into the army that he'd started any Christmas tradition- they'd sit around that night and play blackjack late into the night, sleep in the next morning, and eat the biggest breakfast possible. They were free from most duties the afternoon of Christmas day, so they'd sit around and play more card games. It had become a tradition he looked forward to- one of the only ones he'd ever known.

For Hannibal, it'd been with his uncles that he made most of his holiday memories. They'd have Christmas with his father's side of the family that day, and his uncles were the life of the party- if not slightly unorthodox. Most of the time, they hid out back in the big garage. There was a pool table there, and plenty of cards to tinker with. He remembered the smell of the small fire they'd build right outside the door, and how hard it was to get the car grease off his hands. He loved to be in the garage, but another highlight had to be his Aunt Mae's green-bean casserole. There wasn't anything on earth that tasted better- warm food in his belly after his adventures outside, shooting guns and fixing cars with his uncles. Every year, his parents had given him an envelope with money and an expectancy of him to choose something wise to use it on. He'd always surprised them with his choices- another thing he learned from his uncles.

Murdock's Christmases were a mixture of things. That was what made them so wonderful- always changing. Of course, that was a little later in his childhood. His fifth Christmas was spent in what he thought would be eternal grieving for his mother. At his age, he heard people say he couldn't really understand what had happened to his mom- but he knew. After his grandparents took him in, the next Christmases were better. His grandma would cook the biggest home-cooked meal he'd ever had, complete with sweat tea (Texas style, of course) and mashed potatoes. His grandpa gave him a horse the third year he lived with them, and a saddle that Christmas. They'd ride out that afternoon and feed cattle, making it back in time to clean up before the ranch hands and surrounding farmers started arriving with their own food dishes, children in tow.

It was a different mixture of things, to each of them. Some bittersweet, some hilarious memories, and of course those they shared during their time in 'Nam. But the memories were something they missed.

Face walked down the street, a bag of takeout in his hand. He smiled at a little girl who waved at him as they passed in the street. The lamps around town shone brightly in the dark night. They were in Dallas, Texas- not really a planned stop, but it happened anyway. Face had told the others he was going out earlier, and went to do his shopping.

_"I'll be back with the goods in a bit. Don't wait up!" _

It was sort of a tradition, one he'd tried to always keep. Years of not being able to give people gifts for Christmas had made it hard-set in his mind to always do so if possible. He'd purchased some thick woolen camp socks for Murdock, paid for the repair of B.A.'s necklace he'd broken the previous week, and bought Hannibal new gloves since his had ripped at the thumb. He'd even stopped by a pet store and bought Billy a bone. The dinner was just an add-on to the gifts- he wished he could do more, but their funds weren't terribly expendable at the moment.

Murmurs from a side street caught Face's attention. He glanced sideways at the men huddled under the light of a dirty streetlamp. There were five of them or so, sitting against the wall and leaned against a garbage bin.

He would've passed by and let himself believe that he couldn't help everyone, but he caught sight of one of the men nearest the street. The man wore a blue ball cap-somewhat like the one that Murdock always donned. This hat, however, had letters across the front. Familiar looking ranks and symbols donned the cap as well, and Face found himself stopped in his tracks. The hat was dirty, not unlike the man who wore it. They paused their discussion, staring curiously at Face.

That was how, fifteen minutes later and empty-handed but full-hearted, Face knocked twice and then slowly a third time and entered the hotel room the team was sharing. He smiled at the guys' inquisitive looks as he plopped himself down on the couch and explained his story.

Sometimes, the best gift received was a gift given in respect and a shared camaraderie.


End file.
